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Daryl opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. It looked like the room he and Byrdie shared back in Alexandria, but it was cleaner. Brighter. Somehow he felt cleaner.
He sat up. Why didn’t that hurt? Why was he expecting it to hurt?
“Daryl.” A soft voice called to him from the hallway.
He looked over. Stunned. There was no way this was real. He was hallucinating for some reason. Glenn was right and things had gone wrong. But what had gone wrong? Why his brain this fuzzy.
She walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.
“How are you feeling?” She asked.
“What’s goin’ on?” He asked. “Why are you here?”
“Oh Daryl.” She said reaching in and giving him a warm lingering kiss.
She was real. She shouldn’t be, but she was.
“I don’t know what you did, but you were shot.” She said.
Was that why he thought it should have hurt when he sat up. Suddenly everything came back. Dwight. The woods. Glenn, Michonne, and Denise tied to a tree. Then the white pain followed by blackness.
“Byrd. Did I . . .?” He asked.
“You’re home, Honey. Welcome to the Summerlands. There are a few people waiting downstairs for you.” She said.
“The dumbass up yet?” He laughed to himself hearing Merle’s voice again.
“Just. Give me a minute.” He said pulling Byrdie down to lay on the bed with him.